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“Gather around, gather around!”
Marc dragged his feet towards the voice, his face still glued to his phone screen. If he were a liar, he would say he loved playing for his country but he didn’t. He lost all his love when 2019 happened. Yes, he was the one who started it. Yes, it was unprovoked. But Marc has never regretted anything more than what he did. Because every time he played now, they all had something bad to say and he hated to say it, but it mattered to him what people thought of him. He still loves the game, the German game, even if a little.
But now, he’s more comfortable with his Barcelona teammates than he ever will be with his German teammates. He sighs as he puts away his phone, looking up at Hansi Flick who was staring to the side. He followed the man’s gaze and saw Raum running back and away from the trash can, presumably throwing away his trash.
“Sorry,” Raum grinned apologetically.
“It’s fine,” Hansi dismissed. “Alright so, here are your keys which will be your rooms for the entire World Cup. No, you cannot exchange keys to change your room or roommate. If I find out, you will run around the stadium. I’m serious,” Hansi looked at each one of them. Marc felt his phone buzz in his pocket but he ignored it. Probably just Ansu in the GC whining about the horrible music his Spanish teammates play. Hansi continued, “When I call your name, take your key and go up. Get some rest, we’ll start training at 6 sharp tomorrow.”
Many of his teammates groaned, Marc’s pretty sure he heard Müller complain about his day starting at 7. He stifled his grin as Hansi rolled his eyes at Müller and started calling out names. Manu. Joshua. Thomas. Karim. Armel. Julian. Niclas. Blah blah blah.
“Marc!”
By the time his name was called up, it was only Kevin and him left. He raised his eyebrow at Hansi who only raised his back. He took the key—625—and dragged his feet towards the elevator. Süle held the elevator open when he saw him. “Thanks,” Marc smiled at him and the defender smiled his welcome back.
“What key did you get?” Süle asked him, leaning forwards in an attempt to see the number in his key. “625, yours?” Marc turned to look at him. “619. Pretty sure it’s İlkay,” Süle said.
“Lucky you, it was only me and Kevin left but I still don’t know my roommate.”
Süle grinned at him, “Maybe it’s Manu.”
Marc raised his finger at him and left the elevator, walking towards his room and ignoring Süle’s cackle behind him. He didn’t even need to use his key because the door was open already. He crossed his fingers and hope it was Marco or Antonio. Or anyone else but Neuer because they were still awkward with each other even after 3 years.
It’s okay, I forgive you, his ass.
He opened the door and screamed puta madre mierda in his head all over again at the sight of Neuer putting his clothes in the singular closet.
“Oh hello,” Neuer smiled at him. Marc knows a stiff smile when he sees one. “Hi,” he answers back weakly. “We’re roommates,” Neuer stated, holding a folded cloth in his hand. “Yes,” Marc sighed heavily before heading to his bed, the one closest to the window because Neuer took the one nearest to the door. Marc whimpered quietly when he realized he had to go past Neuer’s bed to get to the closet or bathroom.
He turned away from the older German just as he saw him look at him and opened his bag, placing his clothes on the bed. He took them in his arms—leaving a spare shirt and boxers on the bed before going towards the closet. It was so awkward placing his clothes with Neuer beside him doing the same. Thankfully, the Bayern goalie finished before he did.
“Excuse me,” he murmured. Marc pressed closer towards the closet as Neuer squeezed sideways beside him and the bed. Why is the space between the closet and bed so small, what the fuck. He felt their clothes brush together as the man went by, grabbing his towel and spare clothes before entering the bathroom. Marc let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, gently bumping his head on a shelf.
“What the fuck? ” he whispered to himself. He finished putting his clothes in the closet before going over the AC’s remote, setting the temperature to its lowest possible. He was sweating for some reason. He went back to his bed and removed the rest of his stuff from his bag, stuffing the empty bag under his bed. He charged his phone before flopping on his bed, gently bouncing once before settling. He groaned softly as the chronic ache in his back responded to the soft mattress.
Well, now what?
Marc didn’t know how long he stared at the ceiling, but he must’ve zoned out because the next thing he hears is Neuer’s hey. He sits up and blinks at the elder who was now in an Adidas shirt, Adidas sweats, and … glasses? He didn’t know the man wore glasses. Were they for display or was his eyesight actually bad? Marc tilted his head, confused. “It’s almost dinner,” Neuer said, even raising his phone to signal the time.
“Oh,” Marc realised.
“I’ll be down soon then. I’ll change first,” Marc said, grabbing his phone and the clothes he put aside. Showering takes him longer than he expected so by the time he left the bathroom with dripping, wet hair, he had expected Neuer to have gone down to the dining hall. He shakes his head around, the few water drops clinging to his hair spraying around the room. “Oh my god,” Marc jumps when he realizes Neuer was still in the room, sitting on his bed and leisurely scrolling down his phone. The Bayern man looked up at him, smiling that stupid smile he always gives to the media. Marc looks down at himself who was only wearing boxers and a shirt before looking back at the elder who followed his gaze. “Why are you still here?” Marc sputters as he went towards the closet, quickly grabbing some black sweats. He froze when he realized he had to bend over so close to Neuer’s bed. Eh fuck it, he thinks before hurriedly wearing the sweats. The Barcelona goalie tilted his head to the side as he snapped the waistband against his waist. The same waistband that is now falling to his hips. He blows a raspberry before pulling the waistband back up and tying the draw cord tightly. Realizing he didn’t hear what Neuer said, he faces the man again, “Sorry?”
Neuer stares at the sweats he was wearing for a second before raising his eyes, “Hansi told me to come back and wait for you.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” Marc apologizes, putting his phone in his pocket, “I didn’t know you were waiting for me so I took my time in the shower.”
“No, it’s all right,” Neuer said, standing up and putting his phone in his pocket too. He opened the door and let Marc out first. They both entered the elevator and waited for it to reach the ground level. Marc tapped his finger against his leg to the beat of the awkward, appropriate music the elevator was playing. When the doors opened, they could both see Müller waving his hands frantically at them.
“Let’s go before Thomas breaks his arm,” Neuer chuckles and Marc faces him and lets out a soft yeah.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
***
“Marc! ”
The German turned around to find who called him, his eyes landing on Jordi Alba walking up to him. Players from both Spain and Germany were greeting each other after the draw. He could see Gavi and Sergio greeting Günter from his peripheral.
“Jordi!” he smiles warmly, greeting the left-back who swooped in for a hug. “Nice game,” he says, putting his arm around the Spaniard’s shoulder while theirs wrap around his waist.
“Nice, huh? Not great?” Jordi chuckles and Marc rolls his eyes at him.
“A great game would be us winning,” the goalkeeper says cheekily at the left-back who laughed. The man looks off to the side before smiling knowingly at him, except Marc doesn’t know why he’s smiling. He raises his eyebrow at him in silent communication but Jordi only stares at him in exasperation.
“I’m going before your obliviousness and that guy’s stare kills me,” Jordi says, unfastening his clutch on Marc’s waist. What?
“What guy?” Jordi ignores his question, walking up towards Mario instead. “Mierda, Jordi. What do you mean? ” he hisses to no avail. “Jordi!” Marc huffs, for fuck’s sake. Who was the guy Jordi was talking about? He looks around to see if anyone was staring at him but could only find Gavi walking up to him with Sergio following behind.
“Hola, Marc!” Gavi greets excitedly but not forgetting to put his hand forward. He chuckles as he shakes the youngster’s hand. This guy always wants to seem mature and be taken seriously. He reciprocates the younger Spaniard’s hug before separating. He sees mischief in the younger’s eyes and thinks oh no before his shoulders are grabbed and Gavi is swooping for a kiss.
He pushes the younger’s face away harshly and stumbles backwards, shocked. “What the fuck?” Marc grabs his own shoulders, feeling the imprint of Gavi’s tight hold but said boy only laughs heartily.
“You hold your body like a girl offended,” he giggled before stopping abruptly as Sergio swats him. “Ow, man!” he complains, frowning at the elder Spaniard.
“Ignore him,” Sergio says and Marc opens his mouth to ask incredulously ignore him? but the Catalonian beat him. “He’s testing a theory out,” he adds to Marc’s confusion. Gavi nods at his side, still rubbing his head. “And he might be right by the looks of it,” Sergio looks at his side as he pats Marc on the shoulder. The German snaps his eyes in the direction both Spanish nationals were looking at but found no one. Well, no one except Hansi and his captains arguing profusely.
He clicks his tongue as he faces both Spanish players, anchoring his hands on his hips. “Is this what I said about Neuer to the media? We have an okay relationship, you know,” he says, annoyed and defensive. “It doesn’t affect the team,” Gavi and Sergio only stared at the German blankly before Gavi snorted.
“Yeah, something else does,” the younger midfielder giggled.
Marc groaned, “Honestly, what the fuck are you three on about?”
Sergio joined Gavi in his laughter.
***
Marc fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. They were on the plane home to Germany and he had never felt more awkward. Hansi had made him sit beside Neuer. Sure, the flight home in 2018 was awkward too but he and Neuer didn’t have that ‘feud’ then. He didn’t get it either, Neuer’s mistakes weren’t his fault, so why did it feel like he was being punished? This was probably not a very team-oriented thought to have, Marc pursed his lips. He looks at his side to see the elder typing on his phone, the light on the screen reflecting off the glasses he was wearing. He snapped his eyes quickly to the window beside him in case the Bayern goalkeeper felt his stare. Fuck, the younger German dragged the curse out in his head, I can’t even fall asleep, this is too tense. Just then, he felt his phone vibrate. He opened it to find a text from Neuer on Instagram.
Wait, from—
He looked at Neuer who only smiled and nodded at his phone. He opened the message.
manuelneuer: Are you free any day this week?
Marc tilted his head in puzzlement before reacting with a ‘thumbs down’ emoji. “I’ll only stay for a day or two before going back to Barcelona, why?” he asks the Bayern goalie who sighs pondering.
“Do you want to get coffee when we touch down?” the elder asks, “I have something to say.”
“Sure,” Marc said, albeit a little worried. Neuer seemed so serious and also, they were touching down at like 7 am, very few cafes would be open that early which meant disgusting airport coffee.
Neuer raised his hand and patted his head, “Rest up then.”
What the fuck.
Those three words echoed in Marc’s head throughout his sleep, when they landed, and when he sat in front of Neuer in the airport’s cafe. Neuer took a sip of his coffee but Marc didn’t bother, he would never lower himself to drinking coffee that low-quality. He had standards. He waited patiently for Neuer, warming his hands with the coffee instead. German weather was cold, especially for someone like him who lived in Spain for so long.
Sometimes, Marc wished he never left. Small things like these made him out of place in his own country.
“I wanted to apologize,” Neuer blurted and Marc raised his eyes to look at him. For what, Marc asked silently. “I lied when I said I forgave you,” he continued and Marc felt his heart drop. Well, he knew the Bayern goalie really didn’t, but to hear it from him with his own mouth was—
He didn’t know.
“I do now, really, but back then I didn’t. But throughout this break, I felt something similar about you and it made me rethink if I actually forgave you—am I making sense?” Why the elder was nervous, Marc didn’t know. If anything it should be him. Shit, did he ruin the man’s focus or something and made him perform all those mistakes?
“You are,” Marc confirmed.
“But I realized that it wasn’t that. It was something else. I didn’t really get what it was at first until I saw you wearing my sweats. I’m a possessive guy, you know.”
Woah, woah, what?
Did he wear Neuer’s sweats? He’s possessive?
(Marc ignored the shiver that went down his spine.)
Marc suddenly remembered the black sweats he wore on the first day. The loose black sweats. The same black sweats he slept in. “Oh, that was yours?” Marc stuttered. “I think I have them in my luggage, I’ll give them back,” Marc pointed towards where everyone else and his baggage were but Neuer only smiled. In his glasses. Which Marc always found attractive. Men in glasses, that is, not Neuer. Definitely not Neuer.
“You can keep them,” the Bayern goalkeeper propped his hand under his head, still smiling and staring at him. Marc felt his ears warm up. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you,” he said, losing a bit of his smile.
“I hope you can forgive me that I lied. Even though I said it was fine, you knew it wasn’t because I gave you cold shoulders often, but you still pretended that it was. I shouldn’t have lied,” he sighed and Marc felt even worse.
“I shouldn't have said those in the first place, Manu,” Marc pointed out and Neuer agreed.
“But I really shouldn’t have lied about forgiving you,” Marc chuckled at his insistence.
“Okay, fine. But it’s really not that serious Manu, I promise,” he said, giggling and said man smiled back.
“Really?” Manuel asked and Marc answered back a very quick yes!
“God, I thought you were gonna say something really bad. I almost panicked,” Marc laughed nervously, “It’s okay, Manu, it really is. And I’m sorry, again, for what I said.”
As they laughed in some shitty airport cafe, Marc felt like friendship could blossom again.
Like the flowers he received a week after returning from Barcelona.
manuelneuer: Good luck for the rest of the season!
mterstegen1: you too :>
manuelneuer reacted ‘heart emoji’ to your message.
Marc slammed his face into his pillow and screamed. On the other side, Manuel took a sip of the coffee he made, courtesy of the younger goalie’s recipe.
Or maybe something else could bloom too.